


with honey

by 2manyboys



Series: kink meme fills [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Sex, First Time, Frottage, Kink Meme, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26343730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2manyboys/pseuds/2manyboys
Summary: Written for the kinkmeme prompt: Yusuf is a powerful man (general, sultan, whatever) with a known weakness for beautiful men. Nicolò is the prettiest man his enemies can find. Nicolò is ordered to catch Yusuf’s eye, seduce him, take him to bed and then kill him. He only knows how to do one of this things (kill). It’s a terrible plan and he know it but he’s going to do it anyway, because he was ordered to do so. He knows it will cost him his dignity and life. Fortunately for him, Yusuf sees right through him, but takes him to bed anyway, and shags him so well that Nicolò ends up abandoning his cause.+ Nicolò is completely, adorably inept at seduction. Yusuf is hearteyes for him anyway++ Nicolò is a virgin
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: kink meme fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914529
Comments: 64
Kudos: 744





	with honey

**Author's Note:**

> This got posted with a dubcon warning on the meme so I'll repeat that here, but I'd say I failed at fulfilling that part of the prompt: they both consent enthusiastically but they do have different reasons for sleeping together. Andy and Quynh are a couple in this but I didn't want to tag the pairing because they're only around for a hot second. Feel free to let me know in the comments if this needs more tags!

Yusuf is a powerful man. He is prince in a kingdom ruled by his mother and, while he may have to settle down and choose a spouse in a few years, assuming he wins the election, for now he spends his days studying languages, diplomacy, art, and swordsmanship and spends his nights with beautiful men. As far as anyone knows, they are his only weakness. 

Many of them only want to see the inside of the palace, beyond the banquet halls and ballrooms. Yusuf delights in blindfolding these. Others have heard Yusuf’s reputation, that he is a sweet talker and generous lover. They soon find it is well earned. Still others are sent by his enemies. Men in this last group are usually easy to avoid but annoyingly persistent and, in recent weeks, increasing in number. Yusuf knows what lust looks like in another man’s eyes, knows when it’s lust for him versus lust for power. Most of these men do not even get past his guards, caught with weapons or poison or overheard drunkenly announcing their plans. A few of them are good enough, or pretty enough, to get close to Yusuf, but he’s never been hurt. Seduction can go both ways.

This time is different. In the first place, this isn't one of his parties - which never get so large that everyone can’t be in the pool at the same time - this is one of his mothers’. That means elaborate dancing, elaborate costumes, and many many guards. Strategically it doesn’t make much sense to target Yusuf here, he spends most of the night dancing and laughing with friends. It doesn’t make sense unless they’re confident they can get him alone.

Tonight Yusuf is in green and gold, his jacket shining with a row of buttons down the front and epaulettes on the shoulders. He spent about an hour trying to tame his curls for this, grateful every day that this kingdom doesn’t go in for crowns. 

As he crosses the last name off of his dance card, Yusuf sees him. There is a man talking to his mother. He makes it a point to know all the beautiful men that glide across the marble floors of this place and Yusuf doesn’t know this one.

Watching them, Yusuf sidles up to Booker where he’s spiking the punch bowl. Booker barely looks at him. “My lord.” He says, not exactly the correct greeting and nowhere near respectful. Yusuf loves him for it.

“Who is that man?” Yusuf asks, nodding towards his mother. Booker turns to look. 

He’s not a young lord angling for power, he holds himself like a knight and he’s clearly listening far more than he’s speaking. He’s pretty but not dressed like he knows it, his suit hasn’t been tailored, shoes unshined. The suit isn’t even his color, it only makes him look more pale, highlights the bags under his eyes. Yusuf would rather see him in… well, nothing at all, but that’s not the point. He’s making Yusuf’s mother smile. Yusuf wants to know everything about him, immediately.

“If you want him, you better tell her majesty.” Booker says, the rude joke of it written across his face. As if Yusuf and his mother have the same taste. 

Yusuf rolls his eyes and shoves their shoulders together. “Just let me know when Andy and Quỳnh get here.”

Booker nods, slipping away with his flask before anyone asks him to dance. 

Yusuf keeps his eyes on the man. As he politely (too politely, that bow is ridiculous) disengages from conversation with Yusuf’s mother, Yusuf takes his place at her side. 

“Darling, where have you been?” She asks.

“With Booker,” Yusuf says, kissing the back of her hand, and adding under his breath, “Don’t drink the punch.”

“Ah, that man…” She says, laughing, turning as if to search the crowd for him. 

Yusuf holds out about two seconds before he has to ask, “Who were you just speaking with?”

“Nicolò? You know, I’m not entirely sure.”

Nicolò, if that is his real name, has been dragged onto the dance floor by a girl no more than ten. Her feet are on top of his, they're not exactly dancing as much as they are smiling at each other and stumbling back and forth. Yusuf knows he’s got a look on his face because his mother reaches up to cup his cheek in her hand, embarrassingly affectionate.

“Go and dance,” She says, “He was a very sweet man.”

Yusuf, somehow, doesn’t doubt it. He’s not about to steal Nicoló from the small crowd of girls gathering in their colorful dresses though, especially because the man looks more and more worried every time he looks at them. Someone comes to speak with his mother but Yusuf barely hears them, he’s watching Nicolò face down young children, many of whom barely come to his waist, like they’re an army on horseback and he’s alone without a sword. He must be here for something, must be here for Yusuf, but he’s being foiled by his own good manners. 

It takes Booker breaking Yusuf’s line of sight for him to stop daydreaming about Nicolò being _rude_ instead. Booker is clearly laughing at him, waving towards the entrance where Andy and Quỳnh have arrived, arm in arm. Yusuf says goodnight to his mother, who fondly rolls her eyes, and goes to meet his oldest friends. They know everyone.

“Yusuf!” Quỳnh cheers, seeing him approach. She gasps over his outfit and makes him spin and show off the back. “Your waist in this is criminal. It’s smaller than mine!”

“No, it's not.” Andy laughs, her hands sliding around Quỳnh’s waist to prove it. Quỳnh laughs and tilts her head up for a kiss, Andy’s clearly happy to give it.

Yusuf smiles. “As much as I would love to talk fashion all night, assuming we can ditch Andromache and Booker, someone’s caught my eye.”

Booker and Andy are looking at each other like they’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with their outfits - as if Andy doesn’t always wear black and Booker hasn’t mis-buttoned his shirt.

“Who is it?” Quỳnh asks, tugging Yusuf in between her and Andy, so that he’s facing the dancefloor again. He scans the room for a dark suit and pale hair but Nicolò has disappeared. Yusuf can only frown, realizing his expression matches that of many young girls in the room. 

“He… well. My mother said his name is Nicolò.”

“He talked to your mom?” Andy says, eyebrows raising, “Bold move.”

“Oh.” Quỳnh says, toying with the end of her long braid, “Nicolò is… not one of your usual boys.”

“Do not tell me you’ve _'dreamed of him'_.” Joe groans, even as she shoves him back towards Booker, who catches him only so that he won’t also fall over. “You always say that and I know you mean your network of spies found something out.”

Andy shrugs, “Just because you don’t like a code phrase doesn’t mean we’re going to stop using it.”

“I only want to know what exactly he’s here for.” Yusuf complains, “He’s beautiful, but is he going to stab me?”

Andy and Quỳnh exchange a glance and shrug in unison. Yusuf nearly throws his hands up in despair. 

“He’s definitely an assassin.” Quỳnh confirms, keeping her voice low, “But usually he kills the same men that we do, men who hurt women and children. Men who steal and hoard.”

“What have you been up to, Yusuf?” Andy asks, all dark humor. She knows he’s not like those men, she can see by the look on his face that this description of Nicolò has only made him more attractive. 

“Just go back to the party, alone, and he’ll come to you.” Booker says. The others blink at him in stunned silence. “What?”

“You so rarely have good ideas, my brother.” Yusuf says, grinning. He smacks a kiss to Booker’s head as he goes, ignoring his protests, and leaves his friends by the entrance. Maybe he will sample Booker’s punch after all. 

* * *

Booker’s plan, by some miracle, works almost immediately. Yusuf sees Nicolò start to approach him once, a determined look on his face, and then falter and abruptly turn away for no reason Yusuf is aware of. Then he sees him do it a second time. He is too charmed to suffer a third and simply meets the man halfway across the room like they’ve planned it, handing him a drink. 

Nicolò freezes up, holding the drink like he thinks it might explode, and Yusuf takes a moment just to look at him up close. His hair is just long enough to tug on, small gold hoops gleam in his ears. He clearly didn’t shave this morning. Nicolò opens his mouth like he’s going to introduce himself, but someone walks by too close to them so he hesitates and closes his mouth again. Yusuf wants to cry laughing but it’s not likely to be a move that gets him what he wants. He takes the man’s arm and gently steers him away from the center of the room, into a corner they won’t be overheard.

“Are you enjoying the party?” Yusuf asks.

“Yes, thank you.” Nicolò replies. He’s lying, the delicious line of his shoulders is far too tense. He’s been looking for an exit the whole time but never quite leaving and he isn’t drinking the punch. In Yusuf’s experience, Booker’s punch is often the only way to enjoy these things. Still, it’s the first time Yusuf has heard his voice. Even with the lie it’s lovely.

“Have you been to the palace before?” Yusuf asks, wondering if somehow he’s overlooked Nicolò in the past. It doesn’t seem likely, but then, it’s also not likely that an assassin would walk in, make his mother laugh, dance with children, and then get shy when cornered by his target. Here they are.

“No.” Nicolò says, “I came, that is, I’m here tonight to meet you.”

“Me?” Yusuf asks, delighted. Perhaps Nicolò will make his move now. 

“Yes. I… wanted to ask you… about…” Nicolò stumbles. Perhaps he has no moves. Yusuf’s smile only grows, shifting closer to Nicolò until he stops talking altogether.

“Perhaps,” Yusuf says, pitching his voice low, dragging his eyes down the length of Nicolò’s body and back up again, “You would like to leave the party?”

“Ah.” Nicolò says, taking a deep breath, looking mostly at his own unshined shoes, “Yes, of course, Prince-“

“Nicolò, you misunderstand me.” Yusuf interrupts, he leans even closer when Nicolò’s head snaps up at the sound of his name. “We should go together, and you should call me Yusuf.”

For all the man clearly isn’t cut out for this game, it is deathly distracting when he licks his lips and says, “Yusuf.” 

Yusuf lifts Nicolò’s wrist to bring the drink he gave him, the drink Nicolò clearly isn’t interested in, up to his own mouth. As Yusuf drinks it, continuing to tilt the glass up with his hand over Nicolò’s, he maintains eye contact. The weight of Nicolò’s gaze is heavy, heated, his focus absolute. Yusuf swallows and gently tugs the glass from Nicolò’s long fingers, setting it down blindly on a table behind him. They’re standing far too close for propriety now.

“Shall we?” He asks. Nicolò nods. 

Yusuf takes his hand and draws him away, out of the crowded room and away from prying eyes. He leads him down a passage used only by the chefs who make aggravated noises as they squeeze past, raising platters of food above their heads. Yusuf laughs and squeezes Nicolò’s hand. It takes a moment, but he squeezes back. 

It’s when they get behind the closed doors of Yusuf’s rooms that Nicolò goes tense and unhappy again, glancing around for exits and weapons. It’s like he expects this to be a trap. Yusuf moves in close for a kiss, an attempt at reassurance. If Nicolò’s got a concealed knife that slipped past the guards somehow this would be the best chance of using it, but Nicolò kisses back desperately. His hands flutter nervously before settling around Yusuf’s biceps. He’s a sweet kisser, enthusiastic. 

He seems startled when Yusuf tries to push his jacket off, enough that Yusuf pulls back to ask, “Okay?”

Nicolò stares back at him like he’s not sure which way is up. It’s flattering. His eyes are darker in here, reflecting the moonlight. His mouth has gotten very red. Yusuf gets distracted leaning in to bite the perfect curve of his Cupid’s bow upper lip and almost misses the sound of Nicolò’s jacket hitting the floor. When it registers he pulls back again to help the man out of his tie and shirt as well, baring his chest in record time. 

Nicolò nearly breaks his heart when he reaches hesitantly for one of Yusuf’s golden buttons and says, “Can I …?”

He forgets for a moment that Nicolò may still be planning to kill him, might feel he has to, for any of the usual reasons a man has to kill anyone. He’s busy shucking his jacket off unceremoniously, and then, catching the way Nicolò is watching his hands, undoing his shirt buttons much slower. 

Nicolò actually whines when Yusuf pauses. He’s had an idea, a flash of inspiration, and must see it come true. It’s the same feeling he gets before pulling out his sketchbook. “Come with me.” Yusuf says, taking his hand again and leading him further in, towards his bedroom. Nicolò stumbles a little in his haste to keep up; truly Yusuf has no idea how he let them get so distracted right inside the doors. 

He leads Nicolò into his bedroom but steers him away from the bed for now, instead positioning him just in front of a full-length mirror. He plasters himself against Nicolò from behind, teasing the man with the feeling of his erection against his ass. Nicolò goes very still.

“Oh, you are lovely, aren’t you?” Yusuf says, dragging a hand down Nicolò’s chest and watching it in the mirror. Nicolò’s eyes are sliding down too but he still looks far too serious. “Hasn’t anyone told you that before?” Yusuf asks, all innocence. 

It seems to remind Nicolò what he’s here for, but before he can mumble through another obvious lie, Yusuf’s fingers slip under the waistband of his trousers. “I don't get out much.” Nicolò says instead, making a joke of it. Yusuf drops his head to Nicolò’s shoulder, laughing softly.

“I can see why someone would want to keep you hidden away.” Yusuf says, softly, blowing air into Nicolò’s ear just to watch him jump and squirm. Yusuf’s hand teases lower, following the line of hair leading down to Nicolò’s cock. He wraps his other arm around Nicolò’s chest. “You’re a treasure Nicolò, a rare creature. Some would keep you on a leash, wouldn’t they? In a cage?” 

Nicolò tenses, held fast by Yusuf’s hands, caught out by his words. 

“I’d rather have an equal at my side, a partner.” Yusuf continues, even quieter, like he’s sharing a secret of his own instead of revealing how much he knows of Nicolò’s. Still the man in his arms says nothing. “You can leave if you like, no harm will come to you.”

Nicolò, very deliberately, shakes his head just once. He’s meeting Yusuf’s eyes in the mirror. Something scared still lurks in his expression, something undecided. 

“Come to bed?” Yusuf asks, withdrawing his hand from Nicolòs trousers and back up his chest just as slow. He steps away, watching as Nicolò wavers unsteadily on his own feet, and turns. Making his way to bed, Yusuf strips his shirt and starts on the fiddly buttons of his flies, casual, letting Nicolò move at his own pace.

* * *

He doesn’t think anything of having turned his back, the vulnerability of that, until he feels Nicolò’s hand press warm and dry between his shoulder blades. His calluses scrape just enough to make Yusuf shiver as he draws that hand down along the curve of his spine to the small of his back. 

“You’re a warrior.” Nicolò says, not surprised but admiring. He traces Yusuf’s muscles idly, trailing his hand back up until it hits the chain around Yusuf’s neck. He doesn’t tug on it, though Yusuf is fumbling with his pants and wishing he would. Maybe that would be too close to choking him. Maybe it’s too fast.

Yusuf turns around and Nicolò keeps his hand still, it strokes Yusuf’s shoulder and ends up resting on his collarbone, right at the edge of that chain again. Nicolò is staring. Yusuf takes a step backwards and settles heavily on the edge of his bed, propping his ankle up on his knee so he can undo the laces on his boot. 

“You’re a warrior too,” Yusuf says, tugging hard, annoyed with every necessary step between now and the moment he gets to be naked with Nicolò. “I could tell that from your posture, standing beside my mother like you weren’t doing it to draw my eye.”

“I wasn’t.” Nicolò says, quiet, watching. “It just seemed polite to thank the host.”

“The host of a party you weren’t invited to?” Yusuf teases, shoving his boot and sock off, switching to his other foot. Nicolò kneels to undo his own laces, a belated reaction which has him glancing up at Yusuf, far too charming for his own good. 

“Yes.” Nicolò says, primly. He’s much faster than Yusuf, his scuffed shoes hit the floor one after the other and he slowly rises to his feet. Yusuf, after finally wrangling his second boot and sock off, spreads his legs wide in invitation. He puts his hands behind him on the bed and leans back until he can meet Nicolò’s eyes with a challenge. 

“Nicolò, noble warrior, _most_ welcomed guest in my kingdom,” Yusuf says, grinning when it makes the man blush, “What can we grant you?” 

“A kiss?” Nicolò requests politely, stepping between Yusuf’s legs and leaning forward for it. 

Yusuf grants him this request threefold, laughing when he pulls away and Nicolò chases another, wrapping his legs around the backs of Nicolò’s so he won’t pull away before he realizes he’s not being laughed at. Yusuf gets his arms around him too, pulling him back into another kiss, saying, “You can have much more than that.” 

“Yes,” Nicolò agrees, too quickly, “Of course.” He clears his throat like he’s going to keep talking but doesn’t. His shoulders are stiff again, which Yusuf is beginning to recognize as a tell of his discomfort, and he isn’t meeting Yusuf’s eyes. 

“Nicolò…” Yusuf says, sitting up and shifting backwards, until he can sprawl out properly on his bed. He hates to move an inch away from Nicolò but it’s an excellent bed, he’s never had any complaints. “Lay with me, tell me what’s wrong.”

Slowly, still far more tense than Yusuf prefers his lovers - and he does delight in thinking of Nicolò that way even prematurely - Nicolò crawls onto the bed beside him and settles down with their faces close. 

“Hi.” Yusuf says, reaching for him, smiling. This isn’t the way his conquests usually go, isn’t the way men who want to kill him generally enter his bed, but he likes it. He likes Nicolò for his warmth and shyness in turns. There’s something else going on, besides the obvious, and it’s a mystery that intrigues him. 

“Hi.” Nicolò replies, smiling back like he’s helpless not to. Yusuf has to kiss him then, he has to. That, at least, reliably makes Nicolò melt. 

Still kissing him, Yusuf slowly shifts closer, and closer, and then climbs on top. Nicolò rolls with him, chasing his mouth, eyes closed and hands grasping at him. He doesn’t push for anything else even though from his new perch Yusuf can tell he’s enjoying it. Well, either he’s getting hard or that’s where he’s concealed a weapon.

“Whatever you want, you can have it.” Yusuf whispers, kissing along Nicolòs jawline and listening to him try to catch his breath. 

Nicolò is quiet. When Yusuf sits up to look at him his hands clutch at Yusuf’s waist like he thinks he’s going somewhere and his face is very red. He’s opened his eyes but he’s not looking at Yusuf’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Nicolò says, too fast again, another lie. 

“Hmm.” Yusuf considers. He’s not holding Nicolò down, although he is sitting astride the man, he knows Nicolò could easily reverse their positions. He rocks his hips against him and Nicolò makes a choking sort of noise, hands clutching tightly again for a moment. He’s not having a bad time, but he’s not giving in to the pleasure of it either, he’s acting like he doesn’t know what to ask for. Yusuf has been with men like that, but they’re usually… _oh_. 

Nicolò is watching him, all patience. He looks the way he looked at the party when he thought Yusuf was asking him to leave. The face of a man who has accepted his failure and his fate is not generally what Yusuf likes to see among his pillows. He stoops to kiss Nicolò again, more tenderly, properly even. Nicolò gasps into it. He’s learned quickly how to make Yusuf want to bite him. 

“How about this: you stop me if you don’t like something?” Yusuf says, when Nicolò’s grip on him starts to feel desperate. The man only nods, pink and open-mouthed like he doesn’t quite believe this is happening. 

Yusuf smiles and shifts backwards, trailing his hands down Nicolò’s chest, pausing to tease at his nipples to check his reaction. Nicolò doesn’t give much away. He does squirm a little when Yusuf slides his hands lower, barely there pressure that must tickle. The thought that Nicolò might be ticklish, might be driven to laughter like this, is almost enough to supersede Yusuf’s other plans. He does want to hear that laugh. More than that he wants Nicolò to feel some control, so tickling will have to wait. 

Yusuf shifts back even further, sliding his hands down Nicolò’s body as he goes. They end up at the line of his waistband, dragging it down to expose the prominent V of his hipbones, the hair leading further down. 

“Wait.” Nicolò manages, squirming. Yusuf’s hands freeze at his belt. “Let… let me.” 

Yusuf considers his face, all blushes, and does. He does help to tug Nicolò’s pants down, past his ass and off completely, when it’s clear that’s still what they’re doing, but what’s under them gives him pause. Nicolò, for his part, is now hiding his face in his hands.

There’s a blade, barely more than a throwing knife, fitted into Nicolò’s underclothes, up against his inner thigh. His cock is arranged to cover it, tucked inside a sleeve that looks far too constricting at this point. It must not be comfortable, any part of it, but Yusuf can see how this would let him slip a weapon past the guards even if they did get suspicious and handsy. It gets him hot that Nicolò could conceal this so well, that he’s choosing to reveal it. 

“Is this for me?” Yusuf asks, teasing at Nicolòs cock, meaning the blade. 

“No.” Nicolò says, and then, confused, “Yes?”

“Hmm.” Yusuf says, still just tracing the shape of Nicolò, discovering the trick of this concealment. “Do you trust me?” 

He tugs the blade out, a move which essentially drags it down the length of Nicolò’s cock through thin layers of fabric. When Yusuf meets his eyes they’re wide and dark, blown out with arousal. Yusuf tests the blade against his thumb, not letting it draw blood but very aware that it could. 

“Yes.” Nicolò says, so quiet it’s almost inaudible. He’s breathing shakily, hands resting at his sides like Yusuf’s told him not to touch or like he doesn’t know where to start. 

“Hold still.” Yusuf says. Nicolò’s eyes meet his for a long moment. Yusuf finds it hard to look away, now that he’s adjusted to the dim moonlight in the room every detail of Nicolò’s face is cause for fascination. The slanted scar between his eyes begs for a kiss but Yusuf is busy holding a blade to his remaining scrap of clothes.

He has to look away when he starts to cut them off, has to focus on the work of his hands. It’s quick work. The blade cuts through one side, from Nicolò’s hip bone straight down, like it’s butter. Nicolò keeps very still, but he does make a plaintive whining sound that cuts off abruptly like he didn’t mean to let it out. Yusuf can’t look back at his face or he’ll lose his concentration. He shifts and cuts through the other side with more confidence, from there it’s just a matter of grasping at the fabric between Nicolò’s legs and tugging. 

Nicolò helpfully lifts his hips so Yusuf can yank his destroyed underclothes away like a magic trick, like he’s pulling a tablecloth out from under champagne glasses. The image of that nearly makes his laugh, but the reveal of Nicolò’s gorgeous cock stops him. The look on his face stops him too. Something about it makes Yusuf think Nicolò is fighting the urge to close his legs and hide. 

Yusuf throws the blade away and climbs back off the bed to hurriedly remove his remaining clothes as well. Nicolò sits up as if to grab him but when he realizes what Yusuf’s doing he goes pink and watches, eager. Yusuf remembers that Nicolò likes his hands but he can’t bring himself to slow down. As much as he wants Nicolò to look, he’d rather have his touch. 

Finally out of his clothes, Yusuf climbs back onto Nicolò and flips them in a flurry of enthusiasm. He does laugh, pleased beyond containing it, at the look of stunned arousal on Nicolò’s face above him. 

“Feel good?” Yusuf asks him, sliding his hands down Nicolò’s back, down until he can grip his ass and encourage him to grind them together. 

“I- yes, Yusuf.” Nicolò says, thrusting shakily once and then with far more control, the drag of their cocks together making them both grunt. Nicolò ducks his head and does it again, and again. He gets his mouth on Yusuf’s silver chain, making Yusuf wonder how long he’s been wanting that, making him wonder what else Nicolò might like in his mouth. Before he can turn them onto their sides and get a grip on them both, Nicolò’s thrusting stutters to a stop and he admits, face burning so much Yusuf can feel it against his skin, “I’m close.” 

“Can you come, just like this?” Yusuf asks, grinding up into him. 

Nicolò says, “Yes, yes, I’ve never- I didn’t think it would be so-“

“Shh, it’s okay.” Yusuf assures him, encouraging Nicolò back into his rhythm. He doesn’t move like he’s never done this before and the hair trigger is nothing but hot. “Come all over me if you want, you can open me up and fuck me after.”

The combination of that image, the matter-of-fact way Yusuf lays it out for him, the press of their bodies, Yusuf’s hands on his ass, and the taste of Yusuf’s necklace has Nicolò suddenly frantic. Yusuf keeps him close, whispering, “You’re so close, go on, do it, I want to be the first person you get messy. And the second. And the third, come on Nicolò.”

Nicolò chases that end so beautifully, gasping out a single “A-ah!” as he comes, jerking messily through it, slicking the way for himself. Joe tilts his head back and groans at the feeling of it, the gift Nicolò has given him. His cock is dripping sympathetically, pulsing like a hand could get him over the edge too, but Yusuf wants to wait. The denial makes his toes curl. He pets Nicolò’s back as he shudders through the aftershocks, face still hidden against Yusuf’s neck and shoulder. 

“You want to see the mess you made of us?” Yusuf asks, laughing when it makes Nicolò groan. He takes a hand off Nicolò’s ass to get a grip on his hair instead, tugging gently until he lifts his face. 

Nicolò levers himself up onto shaky arms, kissing Yusuf like it’s been too long since the last time. This is exactly how Yusuf has wanted him since he first saw him, relaxed and sloppy, hot with exertion, glowing. He can’t wait to watch Nicolò’s face when his cock sinks into Yusuf. He kisses him rougher just imagining it.

* * *

Eventually Nicolò stops making out with him long enough to sit up, slowly, and drags his fingers through the streaks of his seed on Yusuf’s body. There’s something wicked at the corner of his barely-there smile. Fuck. Yusuf thinks. He’s trouble. 

“You said I should open you up?” Nicolò says, when he’s done teasing. He wipes his fingers off against Yusuf’s thigh. The casual way he does it is so hot it shorts out Yusuf’s brain and he takes a second to respond. 

“Yes, please, Nicolò. Your fingers are gorgeous.” Yusuf says. His hands have been resting on Nicolòs spread thighs but he lifts one to wave lazily towards his bedside table. “There should be slick in there, if you can reach.” 

Nicolò can reach, just barely. Yusuf traces the long lines of him with his eyes and feels a kind of tenderness for the shadows of his ribcage. His fingers itch for paper and charcoal. The clutch of Nicolò’s thighs around Yusuf as he keeps his balance is frustratingly attractive, as is the tiny victorious noise Nicolò makes when he finds the circular tin. He settles his weight back down on Yusuf’s legs and smiles. It’s sweet this time, the precursor to a kiss.

When Nicolò pulls back from that kiss, trying to pry off the lid of the tin with short fingernails, Yusuf says, “You like kissing?” He wants to hear Nicolò’s voice, wants to distract himself from how badly he wants what’s coming.

“I like kissing you.” Nicolò agrees, glancing up at Yusuf’s eyes and dropping his gaze down to his mouth, lingering. “Your mouth, your beard, I-” Yusuf lifts a hand off Nicolò’s thigh just to rub his thumb against his own lower lip, to drag the backs of his fingers against the line of his jaw, to make Nicolò look. He can’t remember the last time he was so admired for something so sweet and simple. “Yusuf.” Nicolò complains, almost laughing, “Tell me what to do?” 

“Yes, of course.” Yusuf agrees. He talks them through rearranging and pulls a pillow down to get under his hips. The thrust he makes to slide it under him draws his and Nicolò’s attention to his cock, even as he spreads his bent legs for Nicolò to kneel between them. Nicolò inches forward on his knees, lifting Yusuf’s legs over his, and before he can ask permission Yusuf says, “Please, please touch me.” 

This, for whatever reason, brings some of the nervousness back into Nicolò’s face. He reaches for Yusuf’s cock slowly, as if he thinks Yusuf will rescind the offer, as if Yusuf’s cock isn’t practically leaping into his hand. His grip is warm but dry, he jerks Yusuf a couple times, both of them watching like it’s the filthiest kind of porn, before Yusuf breaks and says, “Nicolò give me the slick, please.” 

Nicolò looks slightly wrong-footed as he hands it over, pausing his movements like he’s not sure now if he was doing it right. He doesn’t draw his hand away, just holds Yusuf, unintentionally teasing. Yusuf opens it quickly, throwing the lid aside. Nicolò watches it hit the floor across the room with another almost-laugh, turning back to see Yusuf stick two fingers in, scooping some out and letting it drip down onto Nicolò’s fingers around his cock. It’s just cold enough that he curses, but the feeling fades quickly as Nicolò goes back to exploring. As with everything else they’ve done so far, Nicolò is a natural. Very quickly Yusuf has to stop him again and beg him to put his fingers to work elsewhere. 

He’s surprised when Nicolò doesn’t ask for more instructions. He takes the lubricant back from Yusuf with a soft “Thank you” and a look of concentration comes over his face. It’s another expression Yusuf would love to sketch. 

He wants to keep watching but he’s too curious not to ask so, throwing his hands up behind his head like the layabout prince he sometimes is, Yusuf says, “Done this part before, have you?” 

Nicolò glances up, away from where he’s teasing slick fingers at Yusuf’s entrance, and gets distracted by the way Yusuf’s insolent pose draws attention to the muscles in his arms. He smiles like he knows Yusuf is showing off and says, “Only to myself.” 

The low pitch of his voice in the darkness of the room makes Yusuf shiver. _Trouble,_ Yusuf warns himself again. No matter how much he might want to keep Nicolò in his bed he meant it when he said he’d prefer a partner, beside which, Nicolò may not be here in the morning. He’s likely to run, if he kills Yusuf in his sleep or not. 

“Hurry up.” Yusuf begs, “I want you to fuck me.” 

Nicolò shakes his head, he’s clearly not planning to rush and he’s still mostly soft. He works his fingers into Yusuf slowly, not hesitant but deliberate like he wants to do it right, by the book. Yusuf gets caught up watching him, hypnotized by the slick noises he’s making, smiling every time Nicolò glances up to gage his reaction. When Nicolò presses a second finger in, Yusuf gives in to the demands of his cock and strokes it, slow, teasing just as much Nicolò. 

Nicolò enjoys the show and the way Yusuf is getting increasingly noisy. He isn’t saying words but some of his plaintive noises sound a little like “Nicolò!” Combined with the tight heat around his fingers, the way Yusuf is moving and touching himself makes Nicolò’s cock take interest again. 

The first time Nicolò crooks his fingers and twists, Yusuf does say, very clearly, “Nicolò, _please_.” 

“Are you sure?” Nicolò asks, fucking Yusuf on three fingers with a vaguely worried expression. 

“We can wrestle if you like,” Yusuf pants, letting his cock slap against his stomach because if he keeps going he’ll absolutely lose it, “But unless you’ve changed your mind about fucking me-“

“Believe me, I haven’t.” Nicolò cuts in. 

“I want you _now_ , Nicolò, I want to be your first.” Yusuf says. 

“Did you have to remind me?” Nicolò grumbles, even as he moves to give Yusuf what he wants and replace his fingers with his cock. 

He moves with that same patience, that determination to be good that takes Yusuf’s breath away. He feels so good, pressing in and dragging Yusuf up further into his lap. Nicolò runs the show until he’s fully seated, dropping his head to groan when Yusuf deliberately squeezes around him, but he looks lost again when he glances back up. 

“Go on, babe.” Yusuf says, warmth blooming in his chest for this man, this tender warrior. “Have me however you like, I promise you know what to do.” 

Nicolò likes the nickname, he goes pink and nods, hitching Yusuf’s legs up higher, pulling out and thrusting back in minutely. His confidence grows or his instincts take over as he continues. 

“How does it feel?” Yusuf has to ask, arms raised to brace himself against the headboard. Nicolò is giving it to him so good that he’s nearly breathless but he needs to know it’s just as good for him. Yusuf’s first time he didn’t last nearly this long, although he hadn’t rubbed one out against his partner first either.

“You want me to talk?” Nicolò asks, disbelief dripping from his voice. “I’m trying to- trying _not_ to-“

“Nicolò,” Yusuf says, groaning his name as Nicolò swivels his hips and fucks in hard, pushing back against the resistance of Yusuf’s arms, “Trust me, you’re not just trying. You feel so good. Fucking me just right.”

“Can I touch you again?” Nicolò asks, not quite as hesitant as when he reached for Yusuf’s coat buttons ages ago. Yusuf adores him. 

“I don't know, if you can’t talk while you fuck me how do I know you can jerk me off?” Yusuf teases, trying to get that wicked side of him back. 

Nicolò huffs, curses under his breath, and does something - Yusuf isn’t sure what exactly because he’s hanging on for dear life all of a sudden, eyes closed, head tipped back, groaning - that drags the head of his cock against that spot inside of him that makes fireworks go off behind his eyes. 

“I think it would be nice,” Nicolò says, with all the intonation of a threat, “If we came together this time.”

“Fuck, Nicolò, where did you come from?” Yusuf gasps, not looking for an answer. It’s like the man was made for him, the way he has Yusuf stretched on his cock. The way he’s making him beg. “You wrap those lovely fingers around me and I’ll come whenever you like.” 

Nicolò takes him at his word. Yusuf’s ability to tell which way is up deteriorates rapidly as Nicolò gets a hand around him, those same slick fingers that were inside him before, and fucks him just right. Their breathing sounds so loud in the dark of his bedroom, syncopated with the filthy slick rhythm of Nicolò’s hips growing faster. 

They do come together, eyes locked. Yusuf fucks into Nicolò’s fist, rambling a string of praise and swears and Nicolò’s name which dissolves into a deeply satisfied groan as he crests and, as he comes, an obvious declaration of “Fuck, fuck, I’m coming.” It must be hot anyway, or the way he tenses up squeezes Nicolò enough to surprise him into his own climax. He shoves in and holds there with another choked “Ah!” sound, shaking and jerking his hips in uncoordinated little thrusts. Yusuf can feel Nicolò filling him up and finally takes his arms down from the headboard just to get a hand around his cock and jerk off to the point of oversensitivity at that feeling, rough in a way he knows Nicolò can’t give him right now. 

It’s all so good that Yusuf collapses afterwards, leaving his cock twitching and going soft on his belly, flinging his arms wide and taking deep gasping breaths. The satisfaction flows through him in waves, he catches himself making a pleased humming noise like a purr until Nicolò laughs. It’s the best possible moment for it, that sound Yusuf’s only been imagining up till this point. Like everything else about Nicolò, it’s surprisingly warm, deep and quiet. 

“Pull out slow?” Yusuf whispers, staring at him. “I want you to kiss me again before I see if my legs work to go get a wet towel.”

Nicolò nods, following instructions as well as he has this whole time. His kisses are designed to drive Yusuf mad, all slow and lingering. He touches his thumb to Yusuf’s chin and slides his tongue into Yusuf’s mouth like they’ve been lovers for hundreds of years and he knows it will make Yusuf want him again immediately. They’re still new, he doesn’t know. 

After Yusuf comes back from the bathroom (his legs work fine but he can feel the blood rush to his head, can feel Nicolò’s come dripping out of him) and gently washes Nicolò clean, spooning behind him in a wordless plea to stay, he doesn’t know that Nicolò will fall asleep pressing kisses to his fingertips. They’re still new.

* * *

Yusuf is surprised and delighted to find himself not only _alive_ come morning, but still breathing in the scent of Nicolò’s hair. His reaction to this fortunate turn of events is to immediately talk Nicolò into trying something new. When Booker barges into Yusuf's bedroom, sword drawn, it takes him far too long to understand that Yusuf isn’t dead in his bed, having disappeared from the party with an assassin. Far from dead, Yusuf and Nicolò are going down on each other, their bodies tangled such that by the time Booker realizes what he’s seeing he’s seen quite a lot. He storms his way back out of the room swearing he won’t need to seduce Yusuf to kill him. Yusuf doesn’t hear him. He’s got a beautiful man in his bed thinking maybe he’s the last beautiful man that ever will be in his bed. He certainly doesn’t want to give Nicolò to anyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> Claiming this off anon again because the discord convinced me it's good enough and I love them, plus I know a lot of folks don't love navigating the meme. I always say there could be more - to the point where I should stop writing AUs - but there definitely could be so let me know if that would interest you I guess? Thanks for reading!


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